Burfi - Samsa, Thiago

L-I-double-R bayside trainline

Grew up on butter chicken, and double-digit waistline

Stubble on my face, like, when I’m on a plane ride

People don’t wanna sit on the same side, what?

Look at me, I’m harmless, I’m wearing a tank top

What could I be armed with?

You can have the aisle seat

You can have the armrests, you can have my barf bag

This is not a bomb test (This is not a bomb test)

Soccer moms nervous, when I’m sitting on a flight

So brown, that I’m ticketed at lights

Hot sauce, white sauce, yes, chicken over rice

So brown, copped the Ali Zafar album, yes, I listened to it twice

Hookah high school parties, always visited the heights

Mom never let me kick it over night

On a curfew, mom wanted me to go to Berkley

Dad wanted me to get into Islamic clergy

Chachoo said he’d work me in his diner, making burfi

«Bilkul jasi ghar ke», I was playing Kirby-

-Nightmare Dreamland, I was watching He-man

East side Queens, never talk to the police man, please, man

Barry said that we can

Tried to get it all done within a weekend

See the same dumb shh- up on C-SPAN

Where the change at?

Strip the world down, like a teen cam

And it’s gone in a flash

Everything solved with a bomb and its blast

Long as the promise of cash is involved

No impossible task, like, nah, we had no other options with that

Middle East with some peace, yeah, one day

Body-cams on police, yeah, one day

White punk shooting schools, they don’t update the rules

'Cause Americans in love with they gunplay

Pow!

Someday, Sunday

Go to church, amen, God is the one way

Anybody not on board, awe buddy, we deport

We wanna be great again, do what Trump say

That man is god-awful, compares to none

Melting pot is what makes us American

Still watch during convos, parents judged

From their accents, hmm, think where we’re from

Latinos all hoodlums that carry guns, right?

Criminals, rapists, selling drugs, right?

Stealing our jobs, it ain’t fair to us, right?

Privileged cops who prepared to cuff, right?

Hands up, but the cop scared, he bust, like

«Pow!», and it’s done, was nowhere to run, right?

One last breath from his pair of lungs

From that night he was tryna' get his errands done, nice

All hail the monarch, the pharaoh king

About to diddle in the East, like the Arab Spring

It’s embarrassing, let’s ban refugees, huh?

I just want a slice of that New York Pizza

I’ve even got a shirt saying, «I love Isa»

I drew a little picture of you on my Visa

O Great Conquista-dor

More the type to visit moms on the eastern shore

Than a villain on a felony police report

Ain’t you heard it’s impolite?

What you eavesdrop for?

Phone tap, PAT act, what a turn of events

MAGA turning time back, made em' yearn for the past-tense

Gave Lady Liberty, an urn full of ashes

A term full of fascists, a cabinet of flammable gases

Burning our flag with alternative facts

Now we turning our backs to the masses

Fake news, false reporters, build a wall on the border

With caulk and mortar, not law and order

Turn a circus to a theme park

Even if you got a ticket and a green card

America, the darling, America, the sweetheart, — the police state

From the Bronx to the Verrazano freeway

Middle East, Russia, terrorism three-way

Mom doesn’t know if she should feel safe

Never used to lock doors, now we check the key fob

Now she goes to J Crew, never wears the hijab

Now we make our own chai, never hit the sweet shop

Abbu think we got bugs hidden in the sheetrock

Ammi think I ought to get myself a real job

Too afraid to protest, all we do is read blogs

Never do we bleed out, all we do is treat clots

All it is is foreplay, never hit the g-spot